Fancy Claps
by Surindip Murder
Summary: SUMMARY: After an unexpected death, Gilbert finds himself struggling to take care of his younger brother, but after meeting a certain Russian all his troubles are forgotten... Or are they? RussPruss
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything besides MY STORY.

WARNING: Reader can expect RussPruss and a surprise ending. (not really, but yeah)

SUMMARY: After an unexpected death, Gilbert finds himself struggling to take care of his younger brother, but after meeting a certain Russian all his troubles are forgotten... Or are they? RussPruss

CHAPTER 1

It was snowing when it happened.

It was exactly 4:32 in the morning of December the 31st when he'd received the call that would change his life forever. "Hello?" He'd answered, voice thick with sleep.

"Gilbert? Is that you?" The albino frowned at the sound of that familiar accent.

"What do you want?" He queried, voice flat. "Better yet, how the fuck did you get my number?"

"...It's about Sigmund... He- he got in an accident... his car slipped on sleet and... and... He is- He was in the emergency room..."

Time seemed to stop. He stared ahead, not sure on how to respond. "Where are you..." The question fell out of his mouth. He sat up on his small, dirtied mattress causing the springs to groan as he shifted his position to search the floor for his only pair of jeans. "What hospital is he at?" It was almost like his body was moving on its own accord.

When his step father didn't respond he found himself shaking. "What the fuck, Roma!" He desperately yelled. "Where the fuck is he? Where are they keeping him?!"

It had been five years since the last time he'd seen his father or even heard from him. The long haired blonde had wanted to send him to law school soon after his graduation. He'd even offered him a full ride for a top name ivy league school. Any normal person would have jumped at the offer, but not Gilbert. The idea of sitting in a stuffy suit all day, with a brain full of rules bothered him. He wanted something better, he wanted to become an artist.

When he'd declined the offer and told him his plans for his future Sigmund was disappointed needless to say. Roma had kicked him out of the house the same summer that he'd graduated, he hadn't even given him enough time to properly pack or say his goodbyes. His own father hadn't lifted a finger to stop him and he hadn't even bothered with contacting him through the course of the last couple of years and Gilbert had grown bitter about it.

He had felt abandoned by the one man who'd raised him from birth. He wasn't ready for reality when it hit him. For the first few months he'd camped at the homes of his friends, but they'd all grown tired of him not working and no sooner than a year he was out in the streets.

Right now he was working at a restaurant and he barely made enough to get by. He'd long forgotten his wish to pursue the education of the arts and he'd even forgotten the family that had left him in the dust. Until now.

"Dio mio.. I'm sorry, Gilbert, but... Sigmund is dead."

The phone fell from his hands and his knees gave out with a soft cry. He stared at the wall opposite of him with his mouth agape. He was too shocked for tears, too shocked to even register what his father's Italian lover had said.

BREAK

A/N: I've had this story's plot sitting around my shit for who knows how long. Anyways it's finally being brought to you!

Reviews are appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

FIVE DAYS LATER

When Gilbert had shown up for work he knew that it was going to be a bad day. He'd woken up late for one thing and when he'd gone to the restaurant the place was jam packed and the staff were on the tips of their toes, buzing through the rows of tables and from meal to meal. Today was also the day of his father's funeral.

He'd dressed up for this occasion, wearing the only thing close to an appropriate shirt he had (a black button up) and his jeans. He even went as far as styling back his normally wild hair with gel and spraying himself down with what was left of his cheap cologne, not that it was necessary, he'd lose most of the smell with the cold wind on his bike.

Since he'd gotten that phone call he hadn't left his room, not even for work. He had been too preoccupied with his own thoughts and emotions that he hadn't been able to will himself off the smelly cushion. His employer was going to be pissed.

"Jim," He'd said to his manager after finally tracking him down in the kitchen. He already didn't look happy, his round, chubby face was red and greasy with sweat and frustration. "I can't stay today."

"Where the fuck have you been?" The small man sneered at him. "And what do you mean 'you can't stay'?" He quoted with a mock tone. "We got a full house today kid! We need you here!"

"My dad's-" "Nah, nah, nah I don't wanna hear it!" Jim scowled at him. "It's always something with you. I swear to god.. You've already missed six fucking days! You only had six days! I'm not letting you get away with this shit! You're either staying and throwing on that fucking apron or you're out the door and never coming back!"

"Fuck you!" He yelled causing everyone in the kitchen to silence momentarily and turn in their direction. "I don't give a fuck! There is no way in hell that I'm missing my dad's funeral for this dead end job!"

"Then get the fuck out of here!" His face was redder than before, if that was even possible. "Get out of here Gilbert! You're a common piece of trash anyway. I can hire any fucking half witted moron and they'd do more work than you'd done the entire FIVE MONTHS THAT YOU'VE BEEN WORKING HERE!"

It took every ounce of self control not to smash his little pudgy face in. He straightened his back and stomped out the room. When he'd left the building and was finally on his way to the funeral home the true realization of what he'd just done struck him. He was jobless again. And he'd probably even be homeless again soon, too.

He prayed silently that Sigmund appreciated his sacrifice and that the old, dead son of a bitch at least left him a thing or two in his will. He felt guilty for having such thoughts, but the very fact that he had a place to sleep at night was a fucking miracle and extra money would be very appreciated. His father had been apart of a successful law firm and he had more than enough money laying around. He doubted it though, the man held grudges and the fact that he'd rather paint and draw all day like a kindergartener for the rest of his life rather than sit in an office with a crisp and clean suit and a stack of papers like him and his father before him promised that his name wouldn't even be mentioned.

When he'd finally arrived he was greeted by Roma inside a large house that looked like it was right out of a painting with its red bricked walls and its white pristine window frames and porch and the garden that sat at the head of the house with its beautiful flowers accompanied by neatly trimmed shrubs that followed the bricked walkway towards mahogany doors. The man was in an expensive tuxedo, his eyes were big and bloodshot and when he saw the albino with his under dressed attire and his hair, tousled by the wind, he gave him a small scowl and the faintest twitch of the corner of his mouth like if he was disgusted by his very presence.

"I'm sorry, Gilbert," Roma said, voice low. "I told him not to go, but you know how he was always so st- "Where is he?" He interrupted. "I'm sorry that I'm late, you haven't buried him yet, have you?"

The Italian shook his head as he patted him on his back before leading him in and through the halls of the large house. "It's okay," He reassured as he ushered him through a staircase. "We were just getting started."

They came to a stop at a large room with rows of wooden chairs. The room was lit by the giant windows, giving it a dim look and at the end of a red carpet sat a casket. Roma always wanted the best, he thought, always with the expensive, boasting tastes.

The room was large and lit by long windows, draped by see through maroon curtains that were tucked by their sides. The room was filled with familiar and new faces, all of them shared the familiar expression of sadness, some of them boredom.

"Gilbert," Someone called from the foot of the casket, catching his attention. A young boy he could barely recognize was waving at him, his hair was a shocking color of blonde and he had tears in his round icy blue eyes.

"Ludwig?" He hadn't seen the boy for five years and he looked like the spitting image of their father. Beside him was another small girl- or was that a boy? The kid had light brown locks that came up to their shoulders, her (?) face was soft and round with large amber eyes.

Why was she in a tuxedo? He would've burst in a laughing fit had they not been in his father's funeral. It was Feliciano, he realized. The kid was probably eight right now and already Gilbert already knew that he'd probably be the most flamboyant gay in denial that had ever existed.

Behind him sat his older, sixteen year old brother, looking at Gilbert with an angry pout. Romano had always been on his bad side, with his sour, spoiled attitude and his constant frustration. In his last days of living in his home he had nearly jumped the kid for breaking his ps2 during one of his tantrums.

He approached them and Ludwig hurried to him, nearly knocking over his younger step brother. How his brother memorized him was beyond him. He hadn't seen him since he was seven. Even when he'd lived with them they hardly got any time together as the late Mr. Beilschmidt would send him off for various activities that ranged from boy scouts to piano lessons. Gilbert had suspected he'd kept him so busy because of the fear that he might end up like his oldest.

It honestly made him happy that he remembered him and hadn't forgotten that his older brother existed. He returned the tight embrace before pulling away. "How've you been, West?" He asked while cupping his face with his hands. His skin was tanner than what he remembered and he was amazed at how the young boy came up to his shoulders when he'd once only reached his ribs. His cheeks were still fluffy and stained with tears, but he had the tell tell sign of inheriting their father's prominent square jaw. "You're so big."

"I'm... sad." Ludwig murmured as he turned the other way, clearly uncomfortable. He released him, dropping his hands to his sides, but Ludwig clasped him by the sleeve of his shirt and pulled him towards the side of the coffin where Roma stood. He looked worse, maybe from the lighting. His normal, happy glow was grim and dull, his vitality and youth drained and suddenly looked like his age, like an old man.

Roma was always an emotional man, it was no surprise that the death of his husband had taken the toll on him so quickly. The copper casket gleamed in the sun and the sheets and the cushion that held the body were a bright white. His father looked like he were sleeping, his face was colored with with makeup giving him the false impression of life and his eyes were closed. His long blonde locks were undone and it almost glowed. He looked angelic.

Gilbert felt suddenly unworthy of seeing his father in his nice, fancy resting bed. He deserved the best, the best casket, the best husband, the best son. His eyes fell to Ludwig who was still staring at the body. He didn't deserve to be here. He'd brought shame to his dad, he'd failed his classes, he'd skipped school to vandalize buildings, he'd even had to get bailed out of holding once or twice. He was probably the biggest disappointment his father had.

He felt himself beginning to cry as his jaw began to shiver. He held his lips back, but only succeeded in forming an upside down 'u' with his lips. Tears were suddenly pouring down his face and he let out a loud sob as he fell to his knees and held his face, shielding it from the view of the family that had kicked him out of his own home and had successfully stolen his father from him.

He wailed into his arms, ignoring the hands that patted his back. His father was gone, he'd died a sudden death and he left behind a boy with a family that wasn't his. He felt like an animal here, like an uneducated animal who didn't belong. He felt unworthy of standing here, unworthy of showing his face here. He had seen the looks he'd gotten from the people of the family, they all knew what he was, what had happened and they were judging him as he cried his heart out on the floor next to his dad. He put shame to the Beilschmidt name.

Someone tugged at his arm and hauled him up. It was Roma. He covered his face with both of his hands, refusing to look up at him even when the older man tried to pull him up. "Your father," He said calmly as he resorted to patting his back instead. "He loved you Gilbert, he really did... He was so sad that you hadn't called. You left no number and there was no way of-" "You had my number," The albino whispered, stopping in his pit of self pity.

He realized something in a fraction of a second. How did Roma get his number? He had it. He had it this entire time. Hope spread through his chest, the hope that maybe this accusation was true, that maybe his father HAD wanted to see him again. His grieving mind was quick to throw Roma under the bus and put that blame on the Italian's shoulders if it meant that it hadn't been Sigmund himself, but instead his lover who'd kept them from having contact all these years.

"You had my number," He repeated as he pushed him away and stood straight while quickly wiping away tears and snot. "You had my number, how could he have not had it? Did you HIDE it from him?" The room grew quiet and he was beginning to shake with ire.

"You hid my number from my dad?! WHY!" He demanded. "Why would you do that!" Roma backed away, his mouth was held in a firm, guilty line.

"Because you're a piece of shit!" Romano snarled as he appeared behind his father.

"You're the pieces of shit! You're family was the worst thing that happened to us! We were so happy before all of you came along! You stole him and MY family from me and then you had the audacity to-" Romano Shoved his father out of the way, his face was red with embarrassment and wrath.

That was all it took for Gilbert to snap.

He saw it coming, the Vargas was always so compulsive and slowed down by his stupid childish emotions. He punched him before he could even get in range of him and soon he was straddling him on the hard wood floor, his fist colliding with his face on- two- three times, knuckles scraping against teeth and the edges of his face. Even when a group of big men yanked him away from the yelling, slurring brunette, he was still trying to land kicks at him, still trying to buck them off like the wild, illiterate, animal that he was.

"LET GO OF ME!" He bellowed as they dragged him down the halls and down the stairs. They exited the entrance with the men still holding him, the doors slamming shut behind them.

Roma was angry, he smoothed back his hair as he rubbed his shaved chin in a stressed habit while looking in the opposite direction, his chest heaving as he tried to keep himself from hitting the albino while he was still subdued in the tight hold of the men that he didn't recognize. "Get out," He finally said after a moment of tense silence.

How dare he! "I'm NOT leaving."

The Italian man spun on his feet. His face was red. "GET OUT!" He yelled, spit flying out of his mouth and landing on the younger man. He flinched, but held his gaze on the second pair of eyes.

He wrestled away from the men who held him. "Fuck you." He spat before darting for the door and hastily swinging it open before slipping through. He was caught by the collar of his shirt and a strong, burly arm flung him back and sent him tumbling down the small case of stairs and onto the neatly trimmed yard, the freezing due wetting his button up.

Roma stood at at the top of the porch challenging him to make another break. He held his probably bruising arm as he shook from both the cold of the clinging, wet fabric and the tears in his eyes from frustration and misery. "Let me in," He said shakily, but only received harsh, cross looks. "PLEASE!"

"I can't believe that you would pull this kind of shit in your own father's funeral.." His ex step father said. "If you stay I'm calling the cops. You can visit his grave later. He'll be at this one," For emphasis he waved a thumb behind him. "Just ask and they'll tell you where he's at," With that he lead the men back inside.

He rushed to the closed doors and tried the knob, only finding it locked. He banged on the door for at least half an hour, but found that it was no use. In the distance he could hear the sound of sirens. "FUCK!" The threat had been sincere. He sprang to his feet and hurried down the walkway for his bike, stopping to give one last glance to the perfect house with the red bricks and white frames before he sped off down the street.

The last thing he needed on top of being unemployed was a ticket or jail time on his hands.

BREAK

A/N: Sigmund = Germania

Roma = YouCanGuess


End file.
